Jakoby


She walks in and my heart skips a few beats. Something about her is breathtaking. She's so tiny - that's the only word that could describe her properly. But she's absolutely fierce. Even when she was crying outside the bar, her hands covering her face in embarrassment, I could tell how strong she is. 

   She's glancing around and when her eyes land on me, I see the relief wash over her face. She's glad to see me. That makes me feel so damn good.

   "Hey," she says, when she's still half way across the cafe. Only one other table is occupied and I like that her focus is on me. She tucks some dark hair behind her ear. Her hair was so different that day I first saw her, but everything else about her is the same.

   I stand, but I feel so awkward. Nodding, I smile at her. "Hey, friend."

   Friend? What is wrong with me? I'm trying to convince myself that she and I can be friends. It seems like the only way I'll get to spend time with her. And it's become so obvious that is what I want.

   "Have you been here long?" she asks, curious.

   "Um, I mean, long enough to eat a giant muffin that I bought when I got here. But I can go order us some coffees? How do you drink it?" I ramble when I'm nervous and it's embarrassing as hell.

   But she smiles, thank god.

   "Oh. Um, black. Thank you," she says and pulls out the other chair as I stand up.

   There's no line so I order and I'm back over to our table in a few minutes. I drink black coffee, too. She's sitting now and smiling again as I put down both coffees on the table. I really thought she'd be more apprehensive. She really didn't seem interested in hanging out with me up until now.

   "So, where do you work? Assuming you do have a conventional job, after all?" she asks, wrapping her hands around the paper cup in front of her. She's testing me. 

   I let out a laugh. "Right. Yeah. I do, sort of. I work at Despondent Records? Um, it's a agency for indie music. There's a recording studio too."

   "Wait. Seriously?" She's shocked and it's so obvious.

   "Yeah. But I've pretty much been the coffee boy and everyone's bitch for the six months I've worked there. I don't even get paid. Hence why I play on the streets," I explain. I want to tell her about the news I got today, but I don't. I wait.

   She takes this in and then nods. "Wow. I wasn't expecting that."

   "Good wow or...?"

   "I guess." She shrugs and then sips her coffee, a relaxed expression on her face.

   "Are you from here?" I ask, because I just want to keep the conversation going. None of that awkward silence here, please.

   She keeps her eyes down and waits. Shit. I've already said the wrong thing, somehow. I don't know what to say. My chest tightens and I have this feeling that she's going to bolt, all of a sudden.

   "No," is all she answers, after a few moments.

   "Me either. But I grew up just a couple hours away. I moved here a year ago..." I don't know how much to tell her. She's not exactly asking about my personal life. I don't want to over share.

   "I've lived here since I was eighteen," she says and then looks up at me again. "I'm twenty-one."

   "Cool. Yeah, I'm twenty-three. Uh. I just turned twenty-three, actually," I say, for some reason.

   "What, when?" Now she's interested.

   I swallow hard. "Um. That day we ran into each other at the mall? That was my birthday."

   "Oh. Shit. I was kind of shitty to you that day," she admits, then sips her coffee again, eyes wide. Her eyes are like blue-ish green balls of light, shining back at me.

   "Yeah. Well, you didn't know."

   "That's true." She smiles, and I can tell it's not forced. "So, you work at a record label. You play songs on the streets for money and you play shows at bars. Your life revolves around music?"

   I smile without realizing it. "It always has."

   She nods and drinks some more of her coffee. "That's cool that you have a passion for it."

   I'm glad our conversation feels a bit more natural now, but I don't know what to say. I started playing guitar and singing when I was young because I wanted my mom to be okay. Her husband - my dad - up and left after fourteen years of marriage - when I was ten - and she was depressed and basically had no reason to live. It was just her and I and at her worst moments that year, she told me - her preteen son - she wanted to die. So, I decided to make her feel better. And she did come out of her depression for a few years. She was okay, or she pretended to be. I never really thought of music as my passion, then. It was more like a necessity. Now it's all I have.

   "Yeah. I guess," I say finally.

   "I don't have anything like that. I've just been trying to survive for the past few years," she admits, but doesn't look embarrassed at all by this.

   I want to know more but I don't know how to ask. So I nod and we sit quietly for a few minutes as we finish our coffees. This feels so good, sitting with her. I've been waiting for this moment and hoping it would feel as natural as it does. She seems comfortable with me, too. I just hope it's not too good to be true.

   "So, my roommate. He wants to meet you," she blurts out, and then tap the table with her fingers a few times.

   "He does?" is my response. "I mean, sure."

   "You're really just down for whatever, aren't you?" she asks me, totally serious, a smile forming on her lips.

   I narrow my eyes at her. "What?"

   "Like... go with the flow? You're easy going," she says and it feels like an accusation. Like it's not a good thing.

  "I guess I am," I tell her. "I live with three other guys and I sleep on a mattress in the dining room. I've learned to be spontaneous."

   Her expression shows her shock and then she smiles as if she thinks I'm joking about that.

   "I'm not easy going. I'm the opposite, actually. I struggle with trust and I don't like being out of my comfort zone," she admits. "We're really different."

   "I already knew that," I say. "Different is not a bad thing."

   "Yeah. I guess that's true," she finishes.

   I suck back the last of my coffee, watching her. She's looking at her hands or her cup, and her hair falls into her eyes a bit. I remember the first moment I saw her and something changed in me. Now, just a few weeks later, she's right here. Sitting me with, in this coffee shop. It's surreal.

   "So... when should I meet your roommate? Is he scary? Will he want to fight me? Because even though I said that the other night about fighting that asshole at the bar... I don't fight. I've never been in a fight." Yes, I talk too much when I'm nervous. And meeting her male roommate definitely freaks me out.

   "He's not scary," Ruby answers with a smile. "He's protective of me, though. I told him how you came outside to see I was okay, at the bar. So, he said he wants to meet you."

    "Okay."

   "I'll let you know when works?" she suggests.

   "Sure."

   She smiles again and looks around the cafe before her eyes meet mine again. "So... we're friends?"

   Well, that was easy.

   "Yeah. Friends," I say, quickly.

   One simple nod from her verifies that. "I should go. I am walking home and it's already getting dark."

   "I can walk you," I say, without even thinking. "If you want."

  "You live pretty far from here," she tells me as if I don't know this.

  "I don't mind walking alone after dark," I reply, then shrug. "But I'd prefer if you didn't."

Once we are outside, she leads the way to the end of the street. We don't talk at all for the first two blocks. The air is a bit cool but that's expected half way through October. She shoves her hands into her sweater pockets and keeps walking. When a few tall apartment buildings come into view, she nods that way.

   "The second one is my building. I can go the rest of the way myself."

   "Oh. Yeah, okay. Well, thanks for the coffee," I tell her, but I thanks for the company.

   "You bought it," she tells me, seriously.

   "Right."

   Ruby lets out a quick laugh and it's such a beautiful sound. "Thank you. It was nice."

   I nod. "Yeah. Um, I guess... we will talk soon?"

   I want to know how soon but there's no point in pushing this.

   "I'll text you," she offers. I hope she means it.

   I let her go with just a nod and a smile, but she looks back at the end of the street and waves before crossing and heading over towards her apartment building.

  That was the very best hour of the last year of my life. Maybe the last five years, actually. Just being in Ruby's company made me feel like I mean something in this world - I have a purpose, besides playing music. Maybe my purpose is to help her trust people again. Maybe it's to make her happy. At this moment I'm not sure, but I can't wait to find out.